


The Anomalous Orange

by katsa5



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil Might be Human or Inhuman, Dorks in Love, Episode Related, Episode: e038 Orange Grove, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Omniscient Cecil, POV Cecil (Welcome to Night Vale), Spoilers (duh), head canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3551237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsa5/pseuds/katsa5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This humble listener's interpretation of what took place in 'Orange Grove'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm the conductor of this head canon train! Toot toot!  
> This work will mark a series of exploring different head canons for night vale, starting with a personal one; what is Cecil? Yep, tackling the largest mountain first. Also just wanting to share and give props to exceptional episodes.  
> Enjoy the read.

For a small radio station, the layout was complicated.  The floor was a gray linoleum, and the ceiling was bird's egg speckled fiberwood. Both were flaking in a few places while scrubbed spotlessly clean in others.  There was a freshly painted stripe of yellow along the walls, connecting the management offices with the front door. The walls were also newly decorated with occasional framed photo of previous events. One being a dramatic photo of maneuvering muralled and yellow helicopters. Another was a Picnic Event that hasn't happened yet. In the middle of the maze was the recording studio. Today, the intertwining hallways were abuzz with people, multiple interns and reporters mingled aimlessly either in the break room or the hallways.

Meanwhile, Cecil was giving the audio panel a few, quick tests.  It was casual day, so Cecil was in gray, pleated suit pants and sky blue button up, which had threads woven within it that glistened in bright lights.  The colors were enhanced by unnaturally pale skin. He had a midnight bow tie.    The sliders on the audio panel were readily communicating.  The speakers had their faint yet distinct crackle as the power switch flipped on.  The microphone had a very, very slight reverberation; may need to be tweaked with later.  The supporting arm was still silent.  Finally, he crawled under the desk and inspected the outlets.

A young woman with thick, dark hair was walking up the hallway with a steaming coffee mug.  She wore a tan V neck that was a lovely contrast against her dark skin.

“Hi Maureen.” Cecil quickly said without being distracted from checking the wires underneath the desk. “Can you get me an orange juice, please? Thanks.”

She was carrying a cup of Cecil's usual morning coffee in his personal WTNV mug. "Show time in two minutes." Cecil crawled out from under the desk, briskly ruffling his nearly white, fluffy hair for bloodthirsty dust bunnies. "It's a slow day." Maureen said as she put down the coffee mug and an almost empty news folder. "There's nothing to report."

"This isn't a ghost town.” Cecil adjusted his John Lennon frames. “There's always something to report.  You just have to look for it."

"A produce report?"

"It's a town event."

"It's boring."

"Not every story is a ravine cracking open or an lycanthropic lamp.  If a reporter starts becoming picky, the news eventually devolves into propaganda."  He adjusted a headset comfortably over his ears.

Maureen shrugged as she left the studio, then followed by brown-suited Daniel. He phlegmatically walked to his swivel chair at his own audio panel and desktop computer directly opposite of Cecil's. They were divided by the glass window of the recording booth. Cecil gave him an acknowledging wave. Dead-eyed Daniel just sat.

With a long sip of coffee, Cecil leaned back into his desk swivel chair.  The 'On Air' sign lit red. "You take the good; you take the bad." he adjusted the headset one final time. "You take them both, and there you have spiders crawling out of a red velvet cupcake."  He smiled captivatingly. "Welcome to Night Vale"

He returned the violet ceramic mug in its place as he closed his eyes as if in meditation.  "John Peters, you know the farmer?"   
  


"My winter orange crop is outstanding this year!"  The overalls, scruffy faced man said to a group of reporters; men, women, a bird, almost all with notebooks or recorders.  The bird recorded used a smartphone. A row of matching, silent, and black suited men stood stoically behind him like a wall.  One bore a farmer's hat. He gestured to his flatbed truck.  It was full to nearly overflowing of crates with many kinds of oranges.  He picked out different ones, placing the different types in a line in presentation on the edge. "Delicious clementines, juicy Valencia's, rich navels, and bold blood oranges. A real-." He very briefly looked to the side as he paused a moment in thought, "- a real bumper crop."

"Citrus is our future." John theatrically continued. "Citrus holds the key to prosperity.  Citrus holds the key to health."  He paused again, rolling a clementine in his palm.  His voice grew solemn, "one particular orange literally holds the key to a one-sided door in the middle of the desert.  If you find that orange, I will pay you dearly for it."  His head turned, as if remembering something.  "Or rather, you will pay dearly for it."  He shrugged.  "Either way, whatever.

Would love to have that orange, my friend. Would love to have that orange. Yessir!” he punctuated. “Or ma’am. Or neither. I mean, whoever.” Subtle drops of sweat slipped from under his redwood shaven gambler's hat as he continued. “Sure would love to have that orange,”

Playfully, he tossed the oranges to the reporters, who caught them.  But in moments, the oranges fell to the gravelly ground.  The hands that held them were no longer there.  The reporters were fading in and out like a television losing signal.  They screamed silently as they vanished completely.   
  


Cecil opened his eyes.  His lips pursed a bit: this might be a busy day after all.  "More on this story as it develops." He says as he returns to his desk.  His desktop turned on and he started silently typing in his Bleak-Outlook email while simultaneously typing Orange in Gurgle Search. "The City Council announced today that they just can't be here anymore."   
  


Meanwhile, Carlos reads an email from his phone as he walked out the front door of the lab.  He was in a 'what is the speed of darkness?' Tshirt, khakis, lab coat, and jacket.  It may be a desert, but December was still a bit chilly. He typed and sent his response in an email before starting the coupe.   
Tons of oranges?  He had driven by John Peters' farm frequently to the house that never existed, and he never saw a single tree on the property.  Nor anything other than dirt.  And Night Vale wasn't a town for imports.

Driving, his mind wandered away from problems for a while as he listened to his boyfriend's euphonious tones. With how busy they had been lately, opportunities to be together were starting to become rare.  This evening is going to be special.   
  


Cecil's eyes opened again as his face comically stretched sideways with bulging eyes, "mistakesss."  His computer clicked a 'you got mail'. "No follow up questions were asked."  Cecil says as he read from a nutrition website that was mathematical with rolling oranges in the background.  

"You know listeners," He says as he opened the email. "I did a little digging online and found that orange trees are  _ not native _  to deserts."  Closer to someplace like . . . Someone named Flo Rida was messing with the search results.  

Cecil sentimentally smiled as he read the email aloud.  “Cecil, I’ll do my best to answer your questions, but do know that I don’t specialize in botany or dendrology."  Cecil made a mental note to look up Dendrology.  "I am a scientist. I study science, not plants or nature."  As he read the email, he blinked for a brief look at John's Farmer.  It was full of imaginary corn, but not a single tree.  Carlos is on to something.

He kept reading as he focused on the dusty-born farm, "As far as your other question goes, let’s stay home tonight. We ate out last night. Plus, there’s a new documentary about scatterplot matrices on Netflix I’ve been wanting to see. Also, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance is on TBS again. We could re-watch that. I’ll make pasta, if you can pick up some…” Cecil gushingly smiled.  "Umm, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, Carlos goes on about weekend bowling plans, y– you know what? You don’t need all this."  

With the changing of management, work had kept him too busy to enjoy his boyfriend like he should.  He was going to make all that time back tonight. "I do hope we watch Liberty Valance, though." Cecil said, thinking of John Wayne, Lee Marvin, and 'when the legend becomes fact, print the legend.' "I love that film."  He spun from the computer, "and now a word from our sponsors."  
  


Carlos parked at Ralph's grocer.  It seemed busy for midday.  People were walking out with bags of. . . Carlos paused. Everyone were carrying bags of oranges. When he walked into the Grocery, the overwhelming citrus smell practically slapped his nose.  The fluorescents were dimmed. Looking for tomatoes in the produce section, he was shocked to find every box, every shelf packed with oranges!  Not a single other food, including tomatoes.

He thought of buying a few 'winter' oranges and juice to take to the lab and study.  But there was a growing crowd around the stands.  So he kept towards the main aisles in the back and out of the way.  
Yet the orangey overflow continued down the main aisles now full of orange juice cartons.  No rice flour pasta.  He took a closer look at one of the gallon cartons.  The logo was a 'JP Oranges'.

This was peculiat. John Peters conjured up this almost unsettling logo of an overenthusiastic grim reaper of a sun rather quickly.  Sure, he was the town's most well know agriculturalist.  But it usually took time to stock, purchase, and- 'to make juice too?' he mentally added when he saw the refrigerated aisle.  It was overflowing with gallons of packed JP's OJ orange juice.  And nothing else.  So now no cheese and everything else on the list.

He gave up. The produce crowd had grown as he headed towards the front door. It was now a news event. He recognized a few as WTNV reporters.  If they were there, Cecil is watching.  They were interviewing an employee named Adam, who was holding tiny oranges. As he spoke, he was pulling them out of his pocket one at a time. Suddenly, he began to fade into static.

Carlos backed out of the door.   
  


"He continued pulling oranges from his tiny pocket, mesmerized by their seeming infinitude, and unable to continue speaking as he began to blink out of existence." Professionally Cecil maintained his focus, ignoring the sweet distraction that now left the grocery door.  His eyes opened, his hands folded together, and he sat up straight. His voice lowering in seriousness.  "Listeners, we here at Night Vale Community Radio need to offer the following correction."

As he spoke, a scribbled sheet of notebook paper was silently slipped under the door.  Intern Maureen was out in the hallway, walking towards the break room.  Without any altering to his delivery, Cecil gave it a quick glance, "But, as we all know, nothing can be fully understood to be 'real'."  He brought the microphone with him while carefully adjusting the cord of his headset as he leaned back towards the paper.  His eyes moved in reading. "We at the station offer our deepest, most humble apologies for the previous, erroneous, report." He retracted the microphone in place.  "We affirm once again that nothing is real – including this correction, and least of all, your experience of hearing it. This has been corrections."

Cecil adjusted his bow tie as he faced out again into the glass wall.  Daniel just nodded, and Cecil continued, "Now more on the Orange grove. Intern Maureen brought it to my attention that until today, John Peters – you know, the farmer? – has been missing for about four months! Former intern Dana was the last to see him. Unfortunately, we do not know where Dana was when she saw him." He looked at his phone.  "She’s been without a phone charger for about eight months now, and we’re still texting." His phone's battery was at half-power.  "Also, I'm not sure how she's been paying her cell phone bill."

Just barely past his phone, he glanced and saw Maureen standing by Daniel as she held a short glass of orange juice.  "Maureen?" Cecil pointed at the glass, giving Maureen a questioning look.  She wouldn't be able to hear him while the listeners couldn't see.  "That's not a glass of orange juice you're drinking, is it?"

Maureen pointed towards the direction of the break room.  Cecil nodded. She rose her glass to him.  He answered with his raised mug. "Thank you for the offer, Maureen, but I’m…still working on my coffee."  He took a long sip while Maureen took a long sip of the orange juice.  His eyes were about to close again, but he noticed that Maureen was staring.  Intensely.  Seemingly in and through him.  It was nearly impossible to ignore her, "Maureen?  Is everything ok?"  Cecil nearly dropped the mug as he stood up and carefully leaned towards the glass window while adjusting the microphone to clearly record.  It was better to describe than leave dead air.  Dead air would cause riots. Then broken barriers.  Finally death.  Maureen barely shook her head.  "Is that a no, Maureen?"

She shook her head again, firmer this time.

"Listeners, I - I think that's a no from Maureen."

She glared at him, but it lasted for half a second before her face washed out in fear.  She flickering.  Like a fading television signal.

Daniel had shuffled past Maureen and out of the room, with no more agency than had he forgotten a pencil or keys. Fading all the while, Maureen was taking nervous steps back out of the door, clenching the orange juice glass so tightly.  Cecil watched as she silently vanished, with the orange juice glass bouncing across the carpeted floor.

Cecil stared at the toppled glass.

"To the family of Intern Maureen: She was a good intern, with a beautiful puppy, and a chatty neighbor." It took effort to not sound nervous.  Sure, worse had happened. But how do you combat dangerous oranges? And how to forget when what you're drinking is harming you? "She will be missed."

You got mail!

Cecil slid back to the computer.  "An email from Carlos, marked urgent." He squinted his eyes, trying to read the email and look out at the same time.  

The standard two-floor house was always fading in and out.  The dimensions were blurry in some places, clear in others, and they would always interchange at random.  Two women in lab coats were at the van, one documenting while one readied a camera.  The third was a man that was peering through the front window from the implied side garden.  He was repeatedly dialing his cell phone.  Inside the empty room was a board-stiff looking figure of a man in jeans overalls in a wooden chair staring at a frame picture on the wall.  He was holding a gamblers hat loosely at his knees.  As Cecil tried to look inside and see the picture, his vision abruptly collapsed into static.

The moment after, there was a loud rapping on the studio door. "Someone is pounding on the studio door," he relayed as he rubbed his forehead as peered about for the source. "despite the brightly-lit 'ON AIR DO NOT DISTURB' sign we always put out." The door slammed open and John Peters entered, staring at Cecil through the glass. “Listeners,” Cecil was frozen as he kept eye contact, “John Peters just came to visit.” The farmer's eyes looked empty yet predatorial. “I should talk to him. Maybe this is a good time for us to go to the weath-.” John walked towards the recording booth. “No! Wait! Stop!” Cecil jumped to lock the booth door, “John? No!” It swung open, nearly missing his outstretched hands.  "John, don't come any closer!"  He slowly backed away with his hands up and open defensively.  "You know this is a bad idea.  Like . . . When Nathan suggested using the school table saw to chop a bowling ball for splits.  Remember that?" Cecil dodged when John lunged forward.  "Why are you doing this, John? Whatever control is on you, you can overcome it like you did the Spire!" Cecil squirmed to the side towards the door.  "John, this isn't you!  This isn't the shop teacher I know!"  

On that, John grabbed him and slammed him against the audio panel.  Cecil loudly yelped. His limbs flailed as he pushed against John.  It was like pushing against a wall. His hand landed on his phone, and he tried hitting John on the shoulder with it, but to no affect. Silently glaring, the farmer roughly grabbed Cecil's jaw and tried forcing his mouth open while holding an orange over his face.

Suddenly, Cecil stilled.  For a moment, it looked he had given up.  Suddenly, the hand holding the phone struck against John's temple and sent him spinning towards the wall.  Without missing a beat, Cecil bounced straight up glaring at the prone Farmer.  His eyes were now completely violet slowly washing to black.  John rose his orange bearing hand defensively. Cecil grabbed him by that outstretched forearm with one hand ,the shirt with the other, and slammed John against the soundproofing so hard that John couldn't breathe.

Cecil glared. The room was silent.  Completely and unnaturally silent.  The speakers were reverberating madly, the glass was beginning to stretch out of its frame, the plastic coverings were cracking at the corners, and the light bulbs flex as the light tremors.  John was silently screaming as his skin bubbled and blood poured from his nose, eyes, and finally his ears.  One of the frames of Cecil's glasses shattered. He didn't flinch. He took a step closer.  The glass was now like ripples in a pond. Tiny Patches of skin were slowly being pulled from John's face and hands.

Suddenly, the phone vibrated.

Cecil looked aside.

Instantly, all sound returned.  For a very very, very brief moment, it was like having all of the amplifiers in the building screech at its highest volume straight into the ears.  John fainted.  Cecil was dazed.  His senses were an all over the place mess like scattered puzzle pieces. His nerves were shaking, his ears were ringing, and his head felt split down the middle.  But this John, who or whatever he is, and the four different voices he heard screaming in the distance are going to feel many times worse.

Suddenly The door slammed open.  Cecil huddled down to the floor defensively as several black armor suited, helmeted, face covered, and heavily armed  SWAT men rushed in.  They surrounded the unconscious John Peters and scooped him by the shoulders and knees.  One turned to Cecil, face invisible behind the protective shield, and snarled, "You saw nothing!"  Cecil was more confused than intimidated.

But suddenly, a row of StrexCorp men and women arrived soon after, in their matching black suits, yellow ties, and dark glasses.  The marching in single file like a military unit and surrounded the scene.  Repressing all pains, Cecil stood straight up.  The studio was feeling claustrophobic. "No," the furthest to the left said. "It is you who saw nothing."

It was a tense moment. Like before the climax of peace talks or a brief eye of the storm. The Lead SWAT was seemingly weighing the best response.  He nodded. The Secret Police Team dropped John Peters with a thud and walked out.  Then the businessmen instead scooped up the Farmer and walked out with him. Not one seemed to notice Cecil.

Meanwhile, Daniel approached him.  His expression was flat.  He passed a sheet paper to Cecil, who immediately started reading it. While so, Daniel struck Cecil's neck. The radio host felt a needle prick, and his veins turn to ice. All the pain he had before now froze in place and bore down upon him like weighted bricks. Without any feeling or hesitation, Daniel walked away while Cecil grabbed the desktop to keep from collapsing. His body was numb.  Shuddering as he grasped for sense, he heard Daniel sit down. The producer pointed at Cecil's chair, glaring at him all the while. The weather report was nearly over. 

Cecil slumped over the audio panel as he gathered his shambled thoughts.  "Listeners," The cold haze was never long.  He can work through it. "Listeners! What a fretful few moments we just had!"  To ease his mind, he described the encounter with 'John, you know the Imposter!'

He slid off his broken glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. He tried to see where John was being taken. But he couldn't. "I grabbed my phone to tell Carlos that if I didn’t make it home tonight, it wasn’t because I didn’t love him, or didn’t want to watch a documentary on special scientific graphs, or was too obsessed with my job to relax and enjoy a good meal and some television," his fingertips massaged his forehead, trying to clear the haze. "it was only because I was zapped out of existence by a lunatic non-John Peters."

His clamped hands pressed tightly against his closed eyes, desperately trying to tune out everything.  It was as broken static like the orange fadings. Carlos was in the kitchen at the lab, standing before the radio. He was shocked.  His feet were slowly turning and about to run towards the front door.

Cecil let out his held breath as he slowly focused.  He wanted to touch that face, circle his thumb on that cheek, run his fingertips through that hair, all the while whispering to him that it was all right.  "And that, in fact, I do love Carlos, and I would want nothing more than to watch a documentary on scientific graphs over some homemade linguine, or to go out to eat again, or whatever!" Carlos was staring at the radio, his worried gaze slowly melting to relief.  Cecil mouthed 'love you' before his vision faded.

"But then, as I grabbed my phone, I thought, “Eh, that’s way too long to write for a text,” so . . ." He sighed as he sunk into the chair.  "I just hit John Peters upside the head with it, knocking him unconscious."

Cecil peered past Daniel and saw Maureen's spilled juice had disappeared along with the stained rug. Only the glass remained. As Cecil relayed the scene, glaring Daniel repeatedly pointed at the announcement. Feeling like a recording, Cecil read it into the microphone. “StrexCorp Synernists Inc., majority shareholder of J.P.'s OJ, Ltd., is recalling all oranges and juices due to . . .” there was a red smudge across where the reason would be. He wondered whose handiwork that was. “StrexCorp apologizes for any inconveniences, disappearances, lethargy, and/or multiplicity you may have experienced.” Exhausted, Cecil rested his head on his folded arms. He glanced at why his phone rang earlier. A text alert.

“No pasta,” he read. “but there’s leftover falafel and an unopened bag of nutmeg seeds to snack on. XOXO”

Cecil smiled effusively as he described the dinosaurs emoji to the listeners as if actually sharing it with a friend next to  him.  "That's very cute."

Now feeling more refreshed, he shot up to his feet.  "Listeners, let me release my own special announcement.” He quickly glanced at his computer.  "Cecil Palmer would like to not be late for dinner." He sneered tauntingly at Daniel as he flipped switches, turning off the equipment one by one. "Good Night, Night Vale." He drawled into the microphone. "Good night."  He switched off the signal.

 

Cecil's hand trembled a bit when he slipped the keys out of the lock of the door to Carlos' lab.  He was practically slumping as he stepped in, still feeling exhausted.  The first floor hall led to the lab while the stairs led to the apartments.  He looked ahead, expecting to see Carlos in the lab.  That moment, he saw Carlos rushing towards him.  Before Cecil could even say a word, Carlos was holding his face and looking all over him searchingly. "Are you all right?" he asked urgently.

Cecil could feel the concern in his hands and hear it in his voice. "I'm fine." he faintly smiled.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" Carlos said more sternly.

Cecil paused, unsure what to tell him.  "I'm . . . tired." He leaned against Carlos. Feeling his heartbeat against his cheek, he felt him calm down as he wrapped his arms about his shoulders.

Carlos whispered in his ear, "You're entire eye orbs are purple."  

He looked into Carlos' eyes; was he afraid?  Cecil's voice was desperately pleading.  "It'll pass.  I swear I won't hurt you."

"I know." He answered with eyes so reassuring, "I remember what you told me.  It's ok.  I'm not afraid."  Cecil stared at him as he brought his hands up Carlos' shirt.   Carlos' hands widened down Cecil's neck, their noses touching.  Cecil felt braver, more certain under his touch.  "What happened?"

Cecil only whispered. "Work." They kept staring at each other.  Cecil could tell that Carlos needed more, but could he tell him without distressing him further?

Carlos whispered with a grin, "I didn't buy that 'hit him with the phone' line for a moment." They scooted closer together.  "There was an implosion, was there?"

Cecil barely nodded.

"Is this what you look like when it happens?"  Carlos asked.

"Sort of."

"Wish I had seen it."

"No, you wouldn't."

"Yes I would."  

"It's dangerous."

“Was anyone else injured.”

Cecil thought for a few moments, “No. But that doesn't mean it won't ever happen.”

"That's part of being a scientist; to weigh the risks and make a decision. Scientifically speaking, seeing a generated, confined space implosion would be fascinating.  Personally speaking, you are so incredibly fascinating."

Grasping  Carlos' lab coat collar, Cecil pulled him into a kiss.  Carlos answered by widened hands tightly grasping the curve of Cecil's back.  The sensations of those fingertips and taste of that mouth felt so glorious.  As he lost himself to his touch, Cecil echoed a subtle, barely audible, vibrating bass that made Carlos feel tingly, pleasurable tremors from his ears, down his spine, and out through his fingertips and toes.  He barely repressed a long moan of Cecil's name, and Cecil could feel the other's erection rising in attention against his waist. Cecil sheepishly apologized.

"Still feeling aftereffects?" Carlos whispered.

"A little."

Grinning hungrily, Carlos took his hand,  "Let's go.  I want to study you.  Right now."

Cecil seductively purred, "Be thorough, my Scientist."  Still holding hands, they walked together upstairs.

 


	2. Because the Shirt Asked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is more like a sugary Part 1B instead of a new chapter.

"To accurately display the Data, the X and Y graphs are appropriately measured in matching units."  

Carlos was sitting on the couch, engrossed in the documentary.  Cecil was stretched out on his back, his legs draped over Carlos' lap.  They shared the large sienna wool blanket, the only covering they were both wearing.  Both had messy hair.  Carlos' absently held his chin in thought with one hand while stroking Cecil's calves with the other.

Cecil had pulled down Carlos' shirt from the back of the couch, holding it up as he asked.  "So what is the speed of darkness?"

Carlos answered without looking at him, "It's a joke.  Light speed is a measurement."

"So it means nothing?" Cecil asked.

"Pretty much." Carlos casually nodded, "But the joke is a fallacy.  Since it's linked to light, it can theoretically travel as fast and inverse it's behaviors."

Cecil paused. "That's not fair." He miffed, "It's implies that darkness doesn't do anything independently."

"Darkness is only an absence, so it can't."

"Darkness does plenty, I'll have you know."

"Oh really?"

"It hides.  It masks. And concentrates everything into nothing."

Carlos paused, "That last one would be gravity."

"It hides the gravity."

"Gravity is an unknown force.  It's already hidden."

Cecil smirked, "Not its fault, it's shy."

Carlos starts to laugh. "Now you're teasing."

Cecil playfully tossed Carlos' shirt at him.  Responding with a sneaky smirk, Carlos quickly paused the documentary and dove under the blanket.  Like a playfully seductive snake, he slithered up Cecil's body, who was laughing as the other used every movement to tickle and caress him.  When he reappeared, Carlos was face to face with him, pressing his body suggestively against his warm boyfriend.  Cecil welcomed him by wrapping his arms and legs loosely about him.  They paused to gaze in each other's eyes.

Cecil's fingertips traced up Carlos' messy hair and neck.  He noticed Carlos' laugh lines were faintly deeper.  If that's not a wonderful sign, he didn't know what was.  "What?" Carlos asked him.  

"I love it when you talk science." He smiled, "Every kiss begins with potassium?"

Carlos started to laugh and then Cecil interrupted with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> As part of research, I did watch The Man who Shot Liberty Valance. If you like westerns, its a good one. And John Wayne is awesome in it.  
> Speaking of research, an enormous thanks to Cecil Speaks Tumblr for the transcripts. Its a great episode. But if I had to listen and relisten every time I needed to, I would have eventually gone for those oranges myself.


End file.
